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Friday, April 24, 2009

Cognitive Dissonance - Prolix/Corporeal

Awaken, you’re still dreaming, unformed, immaculate, sanctified with impoverished yearning. Liberate yourself from sleep into the sanctuary of our defeat. Articulate to me of lamentation. I take pleasure in the aggravation; you are confined in your responsibility now that Sanity has departed, exhausted, abstract and unintelligible. I did not survive, though I act markedly responsive. A quiet current of impressions soothe my astringent psyche on my ruptured innate humanity. Wailing by the window in the grief of the proud, dread failings wrapped around us like shrouds.

I am forewarned. Curtains part automatically as the alarm fades into the voice. The bumps have grown overnight, my eyes burn appropriately and my back can feel the effects of the concrete slab I passed out on. The silk clings uncomfortably to my skin. I have it only because I need to feel my success. I feel the heaving all through my membrane, longing for my ascent. The voice is still there, chiming with increasingly ravaged tones. That querulous reprimand ringing in the background is my happy reminder of the failure of those outside my worldview.

Compelled to rally the dying, to take hold of an experience of disconnect, you direct your fragmented, cruel intellect at the division of ages into isolated headland. Scattered throughout the wary reverse of your former stance, subordinate classes are allowed to survive as long as the workforce is needed. Plant unmoved convictions in attendance in edifices of decline continue to exist. Social formations move about to subdue distress in all deference to convention. By indeterminate providence, the surveillance division has mastered the practice of avoiding confrontation. Shudder behind your beloved audience with a display of your improbable disarming paroxysm. I embrace obscurity, disordered ride out downward. Investigate in another place in the subjugation disclosed. I envisage manifest points in time to sustain this fitful refuge.

The haints come with parched, red grins, destined, flowing; glutted. The rotting populace Illustrates rebirth in my pleasure facility, breaking off a Conflagration advanced from opening the event within the scope of reason. The thoughts drift to the surface as I shake off the dream. I shouldn’t try to tell you about it. I’m living from two perspectives at once. I’m one point of consciousness in two places. Two worlds remain separate while the actions in one shape experience in the other. The voice in this universe screams itself hoarse, haranguing the mind of the active, dynamic mind in the other one. Funny how the one that hears voices acts with gloating hubris.

I find myself lying under the highway to bring about coerced elite. You’ll see. Thrash it out amongst yourselves as you flail about in an indistinctive objective that has no emotional impact, barring the superficial ripples from a staged interface drama. Now, consider a passing look outward. Send down mutually supporting actions from your central board room. Organization evaporates progressively false conceptions to resolve into extended control. One added instance, let’s heed the worn down and pull out our ecstasy like gaping arteries.

7 comments:

my perception of these words is not as a hypnogogic flow as the sleeper drifts away but as the voice/mental flow of a sleeper fitfully stirring. as the cave-dweller beginning to understand that the shadows cast on the wall are just that - shadows.

A very interesting take on it. I had a literal mental picture and situation in mind, but through a bit of the old cutup method and further writing based on that randomness, I'm getting far more interesting ideas coming back at me.

i am working on dismantling some of my writing right now. it has frustrated me for a while and i hope an altered perspective will remedy this. i wanted to find a way to do it through randomizing tweets and then have the random cutups on my blog (ever changing poem) but it wont let me link more than one twitter account. so im still working on it

That ever changing poem is something I'm following with interest, for sure. I was using tweets+loudtwitter to disperse, deconstruct, consolidate and re-frame within two other paragraphs and art. Other matters have necessitated a temporary suspension of that experiment, but I'll resume the process at some point. If I could send the rss from the blog where the daily twitter feed is collected through a shredder that spits it back out re-configured, that would be cool.

I'm on the other side of that process where I find it's a challenge to string together narrative, character and action. For me, it's time to try a bit of {RE}_Constructive art.

Interestingly, for me at least, was the fact that after all this twisting and re-arranging of this album, I didn't change the instrumental arrangements at all from the first two-week writing and recording session.

i know what you mean. in my experience some things (poems mainly) emerge complete, fully-formed, and any attempt to alter them ruins them. while many would say that this is a result of the subconscious streaming forth ideas, etc i think that it is more likely to be a product of a SUPER-conscious, ie. a higher form of self, which has somehow completely focussed one's current (and not-so-current) obsessions, passions, interests, etc. the subconscious, for me at least, is more freudian than jungian in that it seems to contain the detritus of personality, seems to be unthinking, and so on. jung's subconscious should probably be considered in many individual AND collective cases as a super-conscious. to me it explains how, for example, schizophrenics can independently generate alchemical or shamanic imagery.

on the other hand, when i consciously decide to write on something (experimenting with a classical theme for example)its often a struggle to make anything work and takes much longer.

I keep each stage of development as a separate file, so I have all versions to compare. Even with drawings, I keep high resolution scans of each stage, so in the end I have a ton of material to remix, layer and play with later.

Often, the first flood is copious and dream-like, and I have to go back with a craftsman's eye for structure and communication. (As you can see over the last cycle of posts, I often share the process.)

I actually find Jung's approach to the unconscious more useful to me in my work. As I attempt to move back towards narrative, Freud's conception may play a greater role. If I remember correctly, this divergence of theories on the unconsciou is precisely the issue that split Freud and Jung as master and student.

i am definitely more impressed with jung, particularly with his work on alchemy and schizophrenics as i mentioned. as well as flying saucers, actually. though i dont think he goes far enough with some aspects of the 'occult' and archetypes. ironically, having just said this, i think that one of jung & freud's major arguments was over the occult. freud appeared to be terrified of it.

i see what you mean about your record of your creative process. as fundamentally a writer, the records of my creative process are somewhat less presentable. haha. but i keep pages and pages of scrawl anyway. and sometimes extraordinary things are buried in the mess. watching something form visually or sonically is far more interesting than reading rough drafts, i'd say. writing, i think, needs to be read complete unless any remix of it is to be very radical.